From work to home, Mark never strayed.

His path was etched in stone.

Inside his mind, his day replayed, 

As he walked his way alone.

Until one eve, as the bright sun shone,

He heard a clickety clack.

Mark turned a left he’d never known,

As the tune transformed his track.

Once he began he could not turn back:

The music moved the man.

His legs fell limp, his shoulders slack,

His body changed its plan.

A crowd had gathered ‘round a band

Banging on pans like drums

Buckets were slammed by palms of hands,

And Mark was stricken dumb.

This raucous act enchanted Mark;

He stood with an open jaw.

Mark stayed until the sky grew dark,

Enlightened and in awe.

Back home, Mark emptied every shelf:

Each object that he found,

Was thus percussed against himself,

To see how it would sound.

Mark had so many materials,

He knew not where to start.

Shaking up rices and cereals,

Following the beat in his heart. 

He spun and twirled and clattered

As he zoomed from room to room

Heirlooms were carelessly shattered

In search of the perfect boom.

Mark tinkered with every trinket,

Hit every kit and caboodle.

He plinked on each thing he could think of,

Then finally said, “This is futile.”

His household’s goods lay across the floor,

None of them fit the right beat.

Mark knew he’d need to buy more from the store

For his heart to sound fully complete.

At work, Mark tapped on the coffee pot,

Hit the copy machine with his hips,

Got lost in thought and then got caught

Shaking up the paper clips.

“This isn’t a band,” his boss began,

“It’s an office, don’t you know?

I’m sorry, man, but you understand:

I’ll have to let you go.”

Taken aback, Mark silently packed,

Took out his files to shred,

Lowered the blinds, left his office door cracked,

With “clickety clack” in his head.

As he hummed his way home, unemployed

By the job he’d enjoyed for so long,

Mark thought about all he’d destroyed,

In the reckless pursuit of a song.

His spirits were fully depleted,

His life course switched in one day.

So he re-turned the left to the street-end,

Where he’d seen those performers at play.

Mark took the same path he’d mistakenly taken,

He recognized the same stoop.

But the loud crowded sidewalk was vacant, 

And there was no musical group.

A table was set with four folding chairs,

Three gentlemen sat at a game.

They looked at Mark and said “Hey there!”

“Come join us and tell us your name.”

Mark saw their eyes, heard their words, and sat down,

Feeling the warmth of their smiles,

His heart skipped a beat when he noticed the sound

Of one tapping the table with tiles.

“We’ll deal you in,” said one of the men.

Mark said, “I don’t want to impose.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m Willie. That’s Gus, and he’s Ben.

Have you ever played dominoes?”

“M-my name is Mark,” Mark finally said,

“No. This is my first time playing.”

The clickety clack that had wracked up his head

Was now to the tune of what his new friends were saying.

Each time the tiles scattered at the start of a round,

Willie said, “Fellas, gather your bones.”

Nothing else mattered. Mark’s heart found it’s sound,

And he never again felt alone.